I do not see her now. But they say she is still in the former school, in the unpainted school I first saw her. In one of the old rooms on the second floor, above the old staircase enveloping every step, there the viewer overlooks the dark waters of an estuary. SHe was still there teaching book knowledge, and living a kind of wisdom only in her I learned.
I always associate her with the beauty of life. Anywhere in beauty; in the scene, in a thought or in a sound so, I see him and I am happy. But there is nothing beautiful in her appearance… and in her life…
SHe was one of the ordinary teachers then. No one paid attention to her. From the way she dresses to the way she carries out her responsibilities at school, nothing can be said about her. We all call her "Good" if she turns her back. That word is the beginning of almost all of her speech. It replaces words she sometimes does not remember, and becomes a leader in moments of doubt. In a subtle way, that became a reflection of the kind of belief in life.
“Good,” she said, “… now we will start this lesson. It is good that we have reached this point… Good… Good! ”...
I would never have told her anything, if he had not only caught me once in tears; that afternoon my young heart cried over the same childish problem.
It was getting late and apart from the roar of the spectators training the school players, the whole area was quiet. In a secret corner of the library, I tried to solve my tears problem. There she found me ...
"It's good that there are people here," she said, hiding her anxiety from what she heard. "There seems to be a problem .. I wish I could help."
I want to run away from her and never come back again. In my young mind I counted the shame and humiliation of seeing each other again in the future, seeing each other return to the memory of that afternoon. But, I could not move from what she said then. I found myself suddenly seated on the opposite seat.
"I didn't know there was anyone here"… .. I came to cry too. " I could not speak the sincerity I heard in her voice. Her gaze dropped to my lap. Later I saw a slight smile on her lips.
SHe held my hands and I just heard the voice confessing to the problem I thought she was at her worst. She listened to me, and now, as I look back on that event, I wonder how she stopped laughing at such a silly thing. But, she listened intently, and I knew that her concern was genuine.
We went out to school together. The proposal separating us was already in sight when I suddenly remembered.
“By the way, Ma’am, you? What did you bring to that corner where I was crying? ”
She laughed softly and repeated those words; "That corner where we both cried."
"I wish I could tell you, but… the problem ... I mean… make life better for you. ”
Mabuti has been a new creation to me ever since. As she spoke from the table, asking questions, answering, as she smiled softly and shyly at us, deepened the frown on her forehead in her annoyance, I could hear the footsteps approaching that corner of the library again. . That corner, .. "We are crying," she said that afternoon. And as her teaching voice echoes in our room, I guess the reason or reasons she went to that corner of the library. I guess she was still going there, in that corner of us… the two of us…
And because I discovered that truth about her, I began to observe, waiting for traces of bitterness in what she was saying. But, always, she had fun, faith, hope in our classroom. SHe was filled with the sweet fantasies of our minds and the sounds in our ears and we gradually learned the beauty of life. Each of our literature lessons became a thirst for our thirst for beauty and I was amazed.
That was not there before, what I can say to myself after she made us feel the beauty of life in our lesson. And it was not for me to discover this beauty but only after that event in the library.
Her faith in the will of God, in humanity, in all that, is one of the strongest I have ever known. Translating emotion. Perhaps it was her faith that gave her the beauty of things that were so common to us.
She did not say anything about herself the whole time we studied with her. But she mentioned about her daughter, her only child. .. over and over again. SHe also never told us about that girl's father. However, two of our classmates knew she was not a widow.
Undoubtedly everything and her beautiful dreams surround that child. SHe told us the reason for that. The growth of those dreams, the fulfilling purpose in life. At times, our teacher seemed unaware that she was afraid she might not reach her daughter's lofty dreams. With the exception of a few in our group, she repeatedly mentions her daughter is just one of the things she “tolerates” to listen to because there is no way to avoid it. To me, every mention of that makes sense because a suspicion has been forming in my mind ever since.
......
Nice article